


synchronous loading

by Soriing



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, Leukemia, One-Sided Relationship, Unrequited Love, get ready to wait, i was going to add romance but then i was like what the hell have some angst instead, so this is all just angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:05:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soriing/pseuds/Soriing
Summary: Seven always said he never intended to live long. So, when his doctor called him in, why was he so upset with the results of all his tests? Sure, there was something wrong with his blood, but he didn’t even want to die old and alone, so why, why, why did it matter to him so much?





	1. blood

Seven hated doctors. He hated leaving the house to sit in an unnerving room with someone he did a background check on, just in case. He hated being sick, and being told he was sick. But he hated the thought of having to tell his friends what was going to happen to him even more than a man with a PhD in death. Maybe V would take his secret to the grave, but Seven liked to think he was more trusting than his blue-haired counterpart.

 

He didn’t want to talk to them- dreaded it. It wasn’t fair. He needed to talk to them, but he _really_ didn’t want to them- or anyone, for that matter. Not when he was feeling like he’d just been kicked in the stomach and pushed to the hard ground by his own body, the fucking _traitor_. It was bad enough V was going through his last leg of life, and without a planner for the RFA, his friends wouldn’t talk to each other when he stopped breathing, trapped in a box in the ground next to V.

 

It wasn’t fair. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to leap from the top of that skyscraper he loved looking at when it was nighttime, and maybe then he’d finally see all the stars without that pain in his chest. 

 

But he couldn’t bring himself to move from his desk, let alone up two flights of stairs and twelve stories up an elevator. Seven pushed the keyboard far in front of him, glasses flung from his head and following suit, replacing its spot on the desk with his elbows. His fingers- shit, were they always so _cold?_ \- roughly pressed into his skin, making their way up to pull at his hair, palms pressed into his eyes. His tears were hot. He wasn’t expecting them to be as hot as they were when they trailed down his arms and fell into his sleeves, one after another after another. Hopeless, pathetic, weak-

 

He needed to call V. V would know what to do- he always knew what to do.

 

He ran his hand over his face a few times, up and down, and pulled his hoodie around him, clutching at the fabric like a lifeline. Would he be able to bring it to the hospital with him? Would they take it away and make him sit in a hospital gown instead, cold and afraid without it? His hand shook as he pulling his phone from his pocket and perching his striped glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. A flood of messages had been lighting up his screen for several minutes. His eyes grew wide, the dam of tears momentarily closed. Something was wrong.

 

He pushed calling V to the back of his mind, skimming over harmless banter from his friends to see a stranger had joined.

 

 **707:** Wait!!

 

 **Yoosung★:** Why?

 

 **Zen:** ??

 

 **707:** Think someone entered the chat room;;

 

He ran through everything that had happened in the chat, every scenario that could lead up to a stranger getting into _his_ chat room. He pulled the keyboard back into place in front of him and began frantically typing, searching, grasping for anything to prove that _he wasn’t going crazy_.

 

 **707:** I traced the IP...

 

 **707:** It’s from Rika’s apartment.

 

He should have been paying attention, not wallowing in self pity over some trip to the doctor’s- the gravity of the news hit him in full force as he stared at his friends’ messages about this strange woman in his dead friend’s near-fortress. Seven's hands shook, trying to text and type all while his vision was blurring. He couldn’t help but smile at his friends’ antics. _God_ , how was he going to tell them?

 

He needed to call V, was told he needed to call him by not only Zen and Jumin, but that pathetically sad voice in his head.

 

He listened with his cold hands pressed against his phone, two rings passing, until V picked up.

 

“Luciel?” V’s voice was a deep baritone.

 

“Hey, V, look, I’d love to stick to formalities, but there’s a big problem right now and we need you to get into the chat room because it’s an emergency and the others want your go-ahead to tell this stranger about the RFA and I know I can’t give them that so-” he sputtered out, and he hated the crack in his voice.

 

“Hey, slow down,” V instructed, worry heavily etching his words, “take a deep breath- that’s good- in and out, in and out.” Seven couldn’t help but do what V told him, clinging to each word, his breath slowing. “Now, what’s wrong?”

 

“There’s a stranger in the chat room. I traced their- her- IP to Rika’s apartment. Said she just downloaded it thinking it was a game.”

 

“And?” V asked.

 

“And… what? That’s all that’s happened in the chat room so far.”

 

“Were you crying?”

 

“H-hahaha... whoa, man, where is this coming from? I just said there’s a stranger in the-” he croaked.

 

“Saeyoung, please don’t lie to me.” 

 

Seven gulped, a curse muttered under his breath. “Can we talk about this after you get into the chat room?”

 

“Do you promise you’ll tell me?”

 

“... Yes?”

 

V sighed on the other end, the phone distorting the heavy breath in an odd way that reminded Seven of an old radio station the two used to listen to together.

 

“Alright. I’ll be on.”


	2. low

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A baby chapter to go little more into V and Luciel's relationship.

“Are you sure? I can drive you-”

 

“No, you can't, V. Even if you came back, I wouldn't get in the car with you. You're too busy to be stuck with me,” Seven said, trying to sound at least a little like his old self.

 

V groaned in his ear. “Luciel, I know nothing has been confirmed, but you don't have to act like you're fine when you're clearly not. You don’t have to pretend you’re invincible with me.”

 

“What makes you think I'm not fine?”

 

“You were crying just a few minutes ago.”

 

V had him there. He _was_ crying a lot… and it was only the first day he found out.

 

But V was wrong about one thing. Everything _had_ been confirmed. They just needed more tests and samples to figure out where to go from here. The thought alone made Seven’s nerves spike up again, stabbing him straight through the heart.

 

“Look, I already bought a ticket home so I can take you to your tests tomorrow, so just hang in there, okay?” V wasn't asking him if it was alright. He was driving him regardless. There was something telling in his voice. “I'll be there around seven to pick you up.”

 

“V, you're not coming here. Stay there and keep working.”

 

“Don't be stupid, Luc. I'm not going back to work until we figure out what we're dealing with.”

 

“ _We?_ ” Seven wheezed out a bitter chuckle. “Are you serious? Since when were we, ‘us’ again? Was it because Rika died and you're lonely now?”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“Don't, what? Don't call you out for ignoring us for the last year?”

 

“ _Don't.”_

 

 _“_ I thought we were friends, I really did. But when we all needed to you the most? You just fucking left us!” 

 

V huffed. Seven knew he was pushing things. “F- Luciel, I- shit, shit, _shit!_ Just- please, just calm down and listen to me-”

 

“Clam down? You want me to _calm down and listen_ now? Maybe you should've thought about that before you just cut me out of your life!” Seven knew V wasn't doing anything wrong. But he couldn't just stop- the bridge was burned and he'd already crossed.

 

V’s sigh was long and shaky. Seven could imagine him whipping his sunglasses off and raking his hand through his hair, deep frown on soft, pink lips, free hand traveling down his forehead and punching the bridge of his nose. He hated what the blue-haired man did to him, how well they knew each other, able to press each other’s buttons without stopping to think.

 

“Stop being immature and please just listen to me.”

 

“Or what? You'll kick me out of the RFA? V, _I’m dying-”_

 

“Saeyoung, please-”

 

“-and don't think for a second that I'll listen to whatever bullshit you think can fix this.”

 

“... Be ready at six. I'm taking you out to breakfast and we can talk about whatever this,” V’s emphasis of the word sent a shiver down Seven’s spine, “is.”

 

Seven breathed a deep sigh through his nose.

 

“Hey, V, thanks and all, but listen to me for a second.” He was trying to calm down, he really was, but he hated that commanding tone V always used when he was done talking with him. It drove him _nuts_.

 

V was quiet. Seven knew he was calculating what to say to calm him down, bring him back from his soon-to-be crash and burn. But Seven didn't plan on letting him have a word in edgewise.

 

“ _Shut the fuck up_.” Seven hung up, slamming his phone down onto his mattress. His hands found their way back into his hair, tugging sharply when his eyes couldn't blink away the stream of fresh tears falling down his cheeks.

 

He threw his glasses beside him on the bed before throwing himself onto his plush comforter.

 

This was pathetic. Not only did Seven hang up on his best friend, but he was sure he destroyed their relationship beyond repair- that relationship he held so dear, sacred, in his heart. The relationship that saved him from himself, saved him from crushing his brother’s soul. Years of genuine trust, burned because he couldn’t stand the thought of V having to go to his funeral.

It took all the energy he could muster to keep himself from curling up into himself and crying into his long sleeves. Whoever said karma was a bitch was right.


	3. orange candles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this and the next chapter in half instead of dragging it on. It was probably a mistake on my part.

True to his word, V showed up at his house at six in the morning. Seven would be lying if he said he wasn’t pissed. Actually, he was, in fact, beyond pissed. He was _furious_. He was furious because he wanted V to leave him alone, to move on from him and avoid all the drama he’d have to go through, now that Seven had even more to bitch about. He was furious he had to get out of his bed and suffer in the cold air to answer the door, regardless of the fact that V knew every answer and could easily get into his house. But there he was, standing outside of Seven’s bunker, looking up at the CCTV cameras outside the door.

 

“Luc, I know you’re up. You were just in the chatroom.”

 

“Go away,” Seven hollered  through the heavily-secured door. His blanket was draped over his shoulders.

 

“Get ready. I want to eat before we head over to your appointment.”

 

“Find something to eat by yourself. I’ve been living off these chips for years.”

 

V’s sigh was muffled through the door separating the two men. “Treating your body like that won’t do anything in your favor.”

 

“Don’t care. I’m not trying to delay the inevitable,” Seven said, sliding down the cold door between him and his visitor, collapsing on the floor.

 

“Luciel, please get out here so we can go.”

 

“I’m not dressed.”

 

There was a beat of silence. “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me. I’m almost naked in here.”

 

“You never said you were almost naked.”

 

“Well, I am.”

 

V sighed. He’d been doing that a lot recently. “I’m coming in.”

 

“No you’re- oh. Um, this isn’t what it looks like,” Seven said. Seven fell at V’s feet, the stability of the door having swung out from behind him.

 

“You’re dressed.” There was a white plastic bag hanging in V’s hand, dangling above Seven’s forehead. Seven squinted, trying to see what was inside the bag.

 

“I sure am.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

V stepped over Seven into his small space- his _sanctum_ , as he called it from time to time- heading for the kitchen. He placed the bag onto the counter, moving a dirty plate into the sink to make room.

 

“Way to invade a man’s personal space,” Seven mumbled as he walked up behind V to watch what he was doing.

 

“You weren’t going to let me in.”

 

“I could’ve come out.”

 

“You weren’t planning on it.”

 

Seven shrugged. “You’ve got me there.”

 

“I brought a few bagels for you, and a sandwich for lunch. I know you wouldn’t eat anything other than those chips, so I figured I should get you something more... sufficient.”

 

“Thanks.” Seven really meant it this time, too.

 

“Are you ready to go?”

 

“To the doctor’s? Never.”

 

“No, to breakfast.”

 

Seven scrunched his nose, clicked his tongue. “Fine. It’s not like I have a choice, anyways.”

 

“You always have a choice, Luciel. I’m just helping you decide this time.” V’s smile was genuine. Seven looked away from the man in front of him. His chest hurt.

 

“That’s not really my choice, then,” he muttered.

 

Seven had to admit he liked riding the bus. He liked watching the world fly around him. It would blur to nothing but streaks of color when he drove himself, but he wasn’t allowed until the day after his initial blood tests were finished. Something about not passing out while driving. He liked the bland colors of the seats, the metal poles sticking up from the cold, metal floor. He liked how everyone was too scared to talk, scared of being judged by the other passengers. He’d judge them, if only for breaking the peace of silence. With V, though, it made things a lot different. He had to break the filtered silence he loved so much.

 

“Dude, just sit down.”

 

“That’s a priority seat.”

 

“You’re going blind. Take the seat.”

 

“And leave you standing alone?”

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

“I’d feel better standing.”

 

Seven groaned, looking away from the empty seat.

 

“I found a cafe near the hospital downtown. We can walk to your appointment from there,” V offered.

 

Seven glanced at V, who was looking out the window, sun lighting up the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. His sunglasses were pushed up on top of his head. His eyes- Seven hated seeing them like this- the bright blue-green that he loved almost as much as the man the shining eyes belonged to, they looked like a fog was washing over them. A fog that turned the world darker and darker, and would eventually swallow everything in an inky black void. Seven looked down at his feet. He hated himself even more when he thought about V losing his sight. He’d have as many years as his natural life would allow him, but he’d be unable to see anything. Seven had never intended to live long, so why was he mad he was dying? V was losing everything he knew and loved, even his livelihood, but yet he wasn’t going to fight the world for being cruel. Seven asked for what he was getting all the time during his youth, but now he wished it wasn’t true.

 

Seven felt a hand ghost past his. He flinched when a finger knocked gently against his, a foreign knuckle grazing his own. He looked up to find V smiling gently at him, sunglasses still perched on top of his head.

 

“It’s almost our stop,” V said.

 

“Already?” Seven looked away. His cheeks and tips of his ears grew hot.

 

V hummed in response, short and melodic, sliding his glasses back down over his eyes.

 

They walked down the tree-lined street quietly, side by side. It was sunny, enough to make Seven squint ever so slightly to try and shade his eyes in vain. It was almost nice enough to make him forget he had to have multiple needles stuck in his arm for the doctor to test his blood samples. Seven froze, the thought burrowing its way into his stream of consciousness, bouncing off the walls of his skull and repeating itself.

 

Someone pushed past him, a disgruntled scoff leaving their lips, shoulder checking into Seven’s still body. His heart was racing, beating against his ribcage. Heat was rising to his face, not the fluttering, nice kind, but the searing, suffocating heat that made him feel his face would melt off any second.

 

“Luciel?” V turned around, eyebrows furrowed in worry. That frown- it didn’t suit him, but Seven decided that he was going to focus on that to keep him grounded, help him take what little breath he could muster.

 

V’s hands wrapped around Seven’s arms, gently pulling him next to a building, out of the way of other pedestrians shuffling down the sidewalk. V rubbed his arms up and down Seven’s forearms in a comforting motion. Seven’s vision was blurring, and he hated how much he’d been crying the past week. He pressed his palms into his eyes, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. It had become a comforting gesture, a familiar motion. He felt the point of V’s chin rest on top of his head, one arm wrapped around Seven’s waist, pulling him close, the other stroking his back.

 

“I’m sorry, V- I-” Seven sobbed, breath hitching. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated, over and over into V’s chest.

 

“It’s okay, Luciel, it’s okay,” V cooed.

 

“I-I-I- I can’t go, I can’t- I just- I can’t.” He couldn’t think straight, his mind only thinking about his doctor drawing _so much blood_ , sticking him with a needle until nothing else was left to come out, just to tell him what he already knew- that he had leukemia, and he was dying. He felt like he was choking on the muscles in his throat.

 

“Just breathe.” V’s voice was deep, reverberating through Seven’s skull in a comforting buzz.

 

Seven trusted the man, even when he was suspicious of him- which he always felt guilty for in the end. So he listened, and he breathed in deep, copying the fall and rise of V’s chest with each inhale and exhale until he could think a little straighter, see a little clearer. What would he do without the taller man in his life? He owed him everything, but he knew V wouldn’t want anything in return.

 

“Do you still want to get breakfast?” V asked when Seven’s breathing returned to normal and his arms wrapped around V’s torso.

 

“Do we have time?” Seven’s voice was muffled against V’s shirt.

 

V hummed. He pulled his phone from his pocket, arm leaving Seven’s waist to check the time. Seven almost whined, hoping maybe he’d wrap his arm around him once again. But he swallowed the noise and let V fully untangle himself.

 

“We do. Of course, we don’t have as much time to talk,” V said.

 

Seven ran a hand through his short, red layers, and sighed.  “Then, let’s go to that cafe you were talking about.”

 

V’s face lit up. He turned on his heel and motioned for Seven to follow him.

 

The cafe was nothing more than a hole in the wall, a dark wood door next to lines of large glass ones, a small sliver of brick tightly packed alongside commercial buildings. A small bell signaled the duo’s entry. The sweet smell of chocolates and fruit mixed with savory scents. Meats, sauces, and vegetables stewed together on stovetops behind the counter, partially hidden by a wall and curtain serving as a door to the kitchen. A small line formed, people gazing behind the cashier at the baskets of fresh bread on shelves and menus hanging on the wall.

 

“-it’s nice here, there’s even good WiFi. I made sure they had stuff you could eat... are you listening? Luciel?”

 

Seven startled when V’s hand brushed against his shoulder. “Ah, sorry. I was just thinking about the tests.”

 

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the truth.

 

“I’m sorry,” V said quietly. “I feel... like maybe I haven’t been serious enough about what you’re going through.”

 

“V...”

 

V held up his hand. “Luciel, please let me finish. I’ve- I’ve been meaning to say I’m sorry for a while now. About everything.”

 

Seven looked at V in shock. The older man’s eyes were to the ground, barely visible through his heavily-tinted sunglasses. And then Seven laughed. It was small, breathy, only slightly constricted with a pain in his throat. But it was real, and it made his abdomen hurt with just how genuine, guttural, it was.

 

V looked at Seven with wide eyes. Seven knew he had to look crazy to the other man, but it was just too much.

 

“Luciel-”

 

“Man,” Seven said between gasps of air, “don’t apologize to me for shit you can’t control. I swear, you care more about this whole thing than I do.”

 

Seven patted V’s shoulder, eliciting a small, relieved smile from the man.

 

He wished he could say things went smoothly for the rest of the day, but things never were easy in life, especially not Seven’s hectic twenty-two years. As light and amiable as breakfast was, V ended up having to drag Seven down the busy streets and practically throw him into his doctor’s office, the smell of wax and artificial oranges filling his nostrils. It didn’t help that his doctor was sugar-coating everything.

 

“Bearing this in mind, we’ll have to draw extra blood samples to determine whether or not this is acute or chronic,” Seven’s doctor concluded.

 

“If extra samples are necessary, doesn’t that mean this is most likely acute?” Seven had to ask. He wanted to leave with as little bloodied gauze covering needle pricks as he could, and if they already knew it was acute, he wouldn’t need to be stuck with anything sharp too much.

 

His doctor looked at him, something akin to pity in his eyes. “We want to be as sure as we can so we can treat you-”

 

“But even if it is chronic, I’ll only have, what, up to five more years to live?”

 

“Cancer may be cured in five years.”

 

“And I might be dead by then.”

 

“Have you already given up?” His doctor sounded exasperated.

 

“Well, I’m not really an optimistic person.”

 

“Then let me and my staff be the optimistic ones and let us treat you.”

 

Seven looked at his doctor, at the desperation his face had melted to- what was his name again? Dr. Youngs. It was printed neatly, uniformly, on a golden name plate perched on the edge of his desk. He’d been recommended by Jumin. One of the best, Jumin had said when he lied about needing a new primary care. There was a small enough seed of hope inside Seven that made him want to trust this man. But that seed was small, and even if he was handed five more years of life, he’d probably spend most of it sick.

 

“... Can you give me some time to think about this?” Seven asked.

 

“Alright. I’ll go ahead and schedule you in for next Thursday, so you have a little over a week to get back to me,” Dr. Youngs complied.

 

Seven looked down at his hands. “Great,” he muttered.

  
He stood up quickly, blood rushing to his head. His vision darkened for a brief moment, flashes of light behind his eyelids, making him stumble. Dr. Youngs looked at him with a worried expression. Seven’s eyes darted away from the man to the ground, back up and to the door before he walked out with reddening cheeks, hands stuffed in his pockets.


	4. old feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a baby chapter. Beta'd by [kwhyloren](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kwhyloren), who is too good for this world.

“Everything go well?” V asked when Seven walked out of the waiting room and caught him in the hallway. Seven could hear an angry, oddly familiar voice screaming through the speakers, twisted into a mechanical mess of high pitched tones, before V lowered his phone from his ear, shoving it into his back pocket.

 

“Yeah. Things are  _ great _ ,” Seven said. His brows knit together. “I’m scheduled to go back for next Thursday.”

 

“Do you want me to come with you?”

 

“If you want.” Oh, he wanted him to, more than anything, but V was getting busier by the day despite his eyesight’s rapid decline.

 

“I’ll try my best to make it, then. I don’t know if I’ll have to work or not,” V said, a smile spreading on his cheeks. “Promise.”

 

“Remember what I said about making promises you can’t keep?” Seven said. He smiled back at V, avoiding those pale eyes hidden by sunglasses. Then he remembered that awful, hissing anger from V’s phone and his smile sank into a tight line. “Um, about that call-”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” V cut him off quickly. Seven raised an eyebrow.

 

“Why?”

 

“It doesn’t involve you,” V snapped.

 

The pain on Seven’s features made V look away.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

 

“It’s fine. I just thought we were close enough for you to talk to me.” Seven regretted the words the moment they came from his lips.

 

“We are. I just- it’s hard to explain.”

 

“I can wait. But, whoever was on the other end sounded really fucking pissed. Angry lover?”

 

Seven hated the thought.

 

V waved his hand dismissively. He flashed a brief smile. “No, just someone I work with.”

 

Seven let out a nervous chuckle. He felt a gnawing suspicion tunnel through his chest with the way V looked away from him and to the ground, and he felt guilty for it, looking at the smile fall from his cheeks.

 

“What, you pushing your developer’s buttons for fun, now?” he teased.

 

“Something like that,” V said, the tense air melting with his silky, humorless laugh, like the sun melting butter.

 

At the end of the day, the butter was still there, even if it was a puddle on the ground, seeping into the cracks of the sidewalk. Seven knew that better than anyone he’d met.

 

“Mmm, yeah, sure. I’m tired. Take me home,” Seven said with that mockingly casual mask he knew V saw through.

 

V caught Seven’s shoulder in his hand, giving him a light squeeze before leading him to the bus station.

 

The ride back on the bus was full- too full to comfortably talk to V among strangers about Seven’s inevitable hospitalisation. So, Seven stole glances at V when he wasn’t eavesdropping on an elderly couple near the front of the bus. The sun was high in the sky now that noon had passed, and it lit up more of V’s face and hair than it did earlier that morning. V was only five years older than Seven, but he’d aged quickly after Rika’s death. The lines between his brows were almost always there, even when he looked as content as can be. Now, V stood looking out the window just like he had in the morning, but his soft smile was gone, replaced with a frown that didn’t suit him.

 

Seven pushed his way slowly, carefully, past the other riders until he was standing near the back of the bus, right next to V. He nearly lost his balance when the bus made a turn, arm shooting out above him to latch onto a handle running along the bars above the bus seats. He leaned over, resting his chin on V’s shoulder.

 

“What’s eating at you?” he muttered into V’s ear.

 

V jumped at the sound of Seven’s voice, the faint tickle of breath on his neck. He was too lost in thought to realize Seven even had his head on his shoulder, pressed closer to him than the distance he usually kept.

 

“Nothing too important,” V said, easing into Seven’s touch. He didn’t bother lowering his voice. It didn’t stop Seven from trying.

 

“You don’t look like it’s not important,” Seven said. He wasn’t used to talking this quietly when he practically had to yell over the phone for people to hear him, pay attention to him. It was nice. “Was it the call?”

 

V was silent. His hand twitched at his side. “It’s almost our stop.”

 

Seven hummed, sending vibrations down V’s spine. This wasn’t normal. V let it slide.

 

“It was someone I had a relationship with in the past,” V murmured when he moved past Seven to get off the bus. He didn’t miss the twitch in Seven’s eyebrow when he looked back to find him following.

 

“And what did she say?” Seven asked, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. He knew it was pointless, trying to pry this information from V.

 

“She mostly just yelled at me,” V said. He glanced up at the sky. “We didn’t exactly end on good terms.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Have you... have you ever ended something that was good and regretted it?”

 

V stopped and turned around to face Seven. His brows were pinched together, his mouth a thin line.

 

Seven stared at him blankly, nearly choking on the bitter laughter scraping against his throat. “I’ve never been in a good relationship. You know that.”

 

“Ah...” V looked down between his feet. “I’m sor-”

  
“Don’t say it.”

 

“But I am.”

 

“I know, and I don’t need to hear it.” Seven walked past V, chest constricting with every step.

 

“I should have told you,” V muttered, falling in place beside Seven.

 

Seven barely heard him over the pounding in his ears.

 

“You should have,” he agreed.

 

“I didn’t think he would-”

 

“You couldn’t have known.”

 

The two were silent until they reached Seven’s street. It was a nice part of town. Too nice to be the home of a hacker, but, low and behold, he burrowed into the neighborhood like a tick.

 

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you after Rika passed,” V said, voice wavering.

 

“Stop saying you’re sorry. You know you don’t need to.”

 

“But that’s why I am.”

 

V, despite the calm demeanor he put up, spoke with an angry edge. Seven smiled at him, sad and a little amazed. They stopped in front of the steps leading down to his bunker. V hung his head as he leaned against the wall next to Seven’s heavy door.

 

“You mean a lot to me, V. You know that, right?” Seven asked, eyes searching V’s form, running along the lines of his body, lingering on those pursed pink lips. He took a shaky step forward, braced for a negative reaction. It never came.

 

His fingers curled around the fabric of V’ sweater, pulling the taller man down to him and connecting their lips. Seven felt that spark of electricity, that feeling of bliss he heard so much about. Those lips- they were soft, gentle, but they never opened up or melted into Seven’s touch the way he dreamed they would. V rested his hand on Seven’s shoulder, making the redhead pull away. It was a brief kiss, chaste, and much to Seven’s disappointment, completely platonic on V’s end.

 

His golden eyes searched every inch of V’s face, brows creasing in worry. V looked shell shocked, to say the least, before his features softened into a calm mask. He opened his mouth to talk, then closed it, looking away from Seven.

 

Seven cleared his throat, turning around to unlock his door with those silly Arabic phrases he regretted at that moment. Halfway through the door, he turned around to take one last glance at V.

 

“I’m sorry,” Seven breathed, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them, “I read the situation wrong. I’ll see you next week.”

 

“Luciel...” V said. His mouth hung open, his brows knit together. He didn’t know what to say.

  
“Call me if you need me, okay?” Seven peeked out from the small sliver he left open before shutting the door without waiting for a response.


	5. dancing with the devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. It's been a while. Friends? Friends. I had a deadline that I should still be writing for, so I pushed this to the side. But I'm a procrastinator, so here I am, writing angst for the sake of writing angst. My teacher is gonna kill me. Haha.

Seven hated going into the chatroom. He used to love talking to everyone when they bothered logging on from time to time, but now they were constantly on because of the new member, pestering him when his mind was already preoccupied. And this new member- she might be cute, but she was bleeding him dry of all his energy. Always on and chatting away with his friends, always trying to talk to _him_ , asking what _his_ job is, why _he_ was hardly ever on. Seven would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous. He just wasn’t sure of who. It didn't help he hadn't talked to  _him_ in days.

 

    **707:** he dosne’t come om antmore stop aksing

 

    **707:** haev mroe work, cant tlke longer

 

    **Yoosung★:**??

 

    **Yoosung★:** but you just got on

 

He furrowed his brow. Why did he log on again? He always skipped over messages she sent. They were never directed at him, anyways, so what did they matter?

 

His phone rang in his hand, startling him from the strings of code he had been staring at for hours. He groaned.

 

    **707:** boss calling

 

    **707:** bye cutie yoosung

 

    **707:** ttyl

 

    **Yoosung★:** he can type fine all of a sudden...

 

Seven smiled at his screen before turning his attention fully to his ringing phone.

 

He regretted answering before he checked who it was.

 

V hadn’t called him since that Tuesday, where Seven just had to be an idiot and ruin whatever it was they had together. Vanderwood called him enough for him to joke about getting married to him. He didn’t think it was funny. So, Seven had gone and done yet another reckless thing for the upteenth time that week and answer, assuming it was Vanderwood calling him and not her.

 

“Vanderwood, I told you I was working, I swear-” he nearly shouted into the receiver.

 

“Vanderwood?”

 

Seven froze. That wasn’t Vanderwood, unless his voice had always been octaves higher than he thought.

 

“Seven? Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

 

Seven felt his stomach drop. He would have laughed at her questions, her obliviousness, but her voice was so much softer than he thought it would be. So much kinder.

 

“Oh! Ah, sorry, I thought you were my boss calling,” he said, brows knitted. Why would she call him?

 

“You call you boss ‘Vanderwood’?” she asked. There was a shift in her tone, like he’d flipped a switch from concern to amusement. But what was so funny? He wasn’t joking.

 

“Well, that’s his name. What else would I call him?”

 

Her laugh was airy. “I just never heard of someone calling their higher ups by their names before, is all.”

 

“Yeah, well, it’s not like he would appreciate being called ‘hyung.’ And ‘sunbae’ sounds a little too formal... Actually, I’m pretty sure he’d actually fight me if I called him that.”

 

Seven watched the CCTV camera he had set up in Rika’s apartment. He heard the rustle of bags, the jingle of keys. And then she was on his screen, groceries hanging from her arms, phone to her ear. A bright smile, the shaking of her shoulders from laughter- it was all he could hear, all he could see. He hated it, the way her bright face made his heart twist. He’d seen her before, but those were just pictures. Seeing her moving- it brought a life to her he tried to deny.

 

“Well, I don’t think it’s very professional to fight your boss,” she said through laughter.

 

“Hey, I wouldn’t be the one to throw the first punch, but I’d like to hope mine would be the last,” Seven joked.

 

“Seven!” she gasped, though that joking tone stuck. There was momentary silence, the rustle of plastic bags, a small grunt that sent shivers down Seven’s spine.

 

“Hey,” Seven said, sobering when she left the screen of his monitor, “why did you call me?”

 

“Huh? Oh! I wanted to hear your voice! I already got a chance to talk with everyone else, but you never answered your phone. Until now, that is,” she said, a smile in her voice.

 

“So, let me get this straight, you called just to talk to me?” he asked, unwilling to believe there was any real reason to call him unless something was wrong.

 

“Well-” she stumbled over her words, pausing before adding, “of course. I’m going to be working with all of you, so it’s only right that I try to reach out.”

 

Ah, so that’s what it was. She felt obligated.

 

“You don’t need to waste your time calling me if you have other things to do, like, I don’t know, planning a huge charity party,” he said, “but... if you need help, I’ll usually pick up right away.”

 

She walked back into the CCTV camera’s field of view and plopped down onto her couch, lazily draping an arm over the back and propping her feet on the low coffee table in front of her.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. She was smiling.

 

“Great. I’ll just get back to work, then-”

 

“Wait! Um, how-how are you doing? You weren’t in the chatroom at all yesterday until around midnight.” She was leaning forward now, elbows resting on her knees.

 

“Ah, about that, I...I had work to do. Gotta put food on the table somehow, right?” He let out a nervous chuckle, praying she wouldn’t call him out for lying.

 

She clicked her tongue, ready to chide him, when he sucked in a sharp breath. “You can’t just work all day without a break, Seven.”

 

“Whoa, who said I wasn’t taking breaks?” he asked.

 

She huffed. “Don’t think the others don’t talk about you when you’re not online.”

 

He smiled, a chuckle threatening to erupt from his throat. He fought it down. “Is that so? I guess I’ll have to set them straight, then.”

 

“No!” she said through a small laugh, airy, drawing out the word, “I was the one who asked them in the first place.”

 

“Then should I punish you instead?” He smacked his hand against his mouth. _Why did he say that?_

 

She was silent. He only heard white noise below the thudding in his ears.

 

“What?”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“No, it’s fine- just- what? What’s funny?”

 

He didn’t even know he was laughing, his body shaking and tears streaming down his cheeks. “Ah, no, I didn’t mean anything by it. I shouldn’t have said that, ahaha.”

 

“Seven? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just brought up some old memories I’d love to forget,” he said. He sighed, taking deep breaths to calm his racing pulse. “Do you have anything you wish you could forget?”

 

“Oh, wow, that’s a loaded question, isn’t it?” she asked, tagging a nervous chuckle on the end.

 

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer-”

 

“Stop saying sorry. It’s fine, honestly. But I was thinking… what kind of person are you to think about these things?”

 

He gulped.

 

“We all regret things, but I don’t think we should try to forget them. They make us who we are, don’t they?” she continued, “who would I be if I didn’t regret things?”

 

The sight of her forlorn smile made him nervous. He regretted thinking, regretted asking.

 

“I’m sorry Seven, I have to go. I just got an email from one of the guests for the party,” she said when he remained fixated on his CCTV camera footage.

 

She hung up.

  
“‘Who would I be if I didn’t regret things?’ What kind of person am I? What kind of person are you to ask me?” he muttered.


	6. love, laughs, and leukemia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick update. the title is deceiving and this is very dialogue heavy.

“Have you told them?”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“Seven, it’s a yes or no question.”

 

“ _ Fuck off _ .”

 

“I’ll take that as a no.”

 

Seven groaned. “Don’t you ever listen to me?”

 

“Not when you don’t do your work.”

 

“If I do it, will you shut up and leave me alone?”

 

“You told me to ‘fuck off.’ That’s a little different.”

 

“No, it’s not. Get out of my house.”

 

A sigh.

 

“What do you want me to tell the boss this time?”

 

“I don’t know. You’re the handler, make something up.”

 

“Okay, so ‘Agent 707 was unable to complete the task given to him due to his overwhelming anxiety caused by the inability to stay off social media and talk to physically attractive people’ is fine?”

 

“That won’t work.”

 

“That’s the point.”

 

“Vanderwood, come on. I’m being serious.”

 

“So am I.”

 

“No, you’re not. You’re just making the urge to punch you harder to resist.”

 

“You’re going to punch your handler? That’s how you deal with pressure? I didn’t take you for such a time bomb. Maybe I should let the boss know about this temper.”

 

“Oh,  _ haha _ . You win. I’ll get back to work.”

 

“Do you want me to help clean up before I go, or should I wait for when it’s even worse?”

 

“Do whatever. I’m busy,” Seven said, turning back to his computer and typing.

 

Vanderwood sighed. “You still need to tell them,” he said as he walked into Seven’s kitchenette.

 

“Fuck off,” Seven called from his workspace.

 

Vanderwood had half a mind to let Seven die in his dilapidated bunker. Instead, he pulled on a pair of cleaning gloves and got to work on the glasses left in the sink.

 

“You know, I’m not seeing a whole lot of plates in here,” Vanderwood called. “Have you been eating on paper plates recently?”

 

“Mmm, it’s more like I haven’t been eating,” Seven said with a dismissive wave of his hand, despite the fact he knew Vanderwood couldn’t see.

 

Vanderwood dropped his sponge in a cup filled with sudsy water. “Are you serious? When was the last time you ate?”

 

“Tuesday.”

 

“Why’d you stop?” Vanderwood pulled the rubber gloves off by the fingers and draped them over the edge of Seven’s kitchen sink.

 

“Didn’t feel like it.”

 

“Have you been taking your medication?” Vanderwood was leaning against the doorframe of Seven’s workspace now, arms crossed.

 

“Why does it matter?”

 

“I’ll have to tell the boss if you stopped.”

 

“Forty milligrams wasn’t enough.”

 

“So you stopped?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Did you taper off?”

 

Seven was quiet, fingers still tapping away at his keyboard.

 

Vanderwood sighed and stood up. He walked over to Seven’s chair and spun him around to look him in the eye. “Why didn’t you talk to your psychiatrist about this?”

 

“I stopped going to the appointments after I was diagnosed.”

 

“So, you’ve been off your meds for a month and you didn’t think about telling me? Do you know how reckless you’re being?”

 

Seven snorted. “Oh please. I’m still able to work, why does it matter?”

 

“Stop saying that. You won’t be able to work if you’re catatonic.”

 

“I won’t be able to work when I’m dead.”

 

“You’re being dramatic.”

 

“You’re being nosy.”

 

Vanderwood raised a thick eyebrow. “I’m being cautious. You know how the agency works.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. They’ll cut me loose and black ball me. I don’t really care.”

 

“I do. God, why are you being such an ass?”

 

“Maybe it’s the whole ‘I’m dying’ thing.”

 

“That never stopped you before.”

 

“This time wasn’t my choice.”

 

“And living in an abusive home was? Seven, you know I ran away too. I know what it’s like.”

 

“Maybe I prefer my mom to cancer.”

 

“Maybe you’re just a drama queen.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, get out of my house.”

 

Vanderwood clicked his tongue. “Fine. I’ll leave your dishes- sorry,  _ glasses _ \- in the sink for you to clean when you’re done, then.”

 

Seven’s eyes widened and he fought back a grin. “Shit- wait, I’m sorry. I was just kidding.”

 

“Thought so.” Vanderwood lightly smacked Seven in the back of the head before returning to his place at the sink.

 

Seven rubbed his head, ruffling the curly locks.

 

Seven’s behavior never was predictable, but Vanderwood couldn’t believe how indifferent he was now that he was given a tentative deadline in both work and life. He was still snippy with a sick sense of humor, but he was indifferent nonetheless. Vanderwood had to focus on smoothing out the furrow of his brow, he shaking of his hands. That guy was on a road to his self destruct button.

 

Vanderwood let out a frustrated groan.

 

“You don’t- you don’t really have to clean. I can hurry and finish his and... and I guess I’ll clean up around here,” Seven said from the other room.

 

“I’m going to be honest, Seven. I don’t trust you with anything other than your computer and a car,” Vanderwood said.

 

Seven laughed, though it was quiet and Vanderwood could barely hear it. “Get in line, pal.”

 

“Seven, come on. You’re being dramatic again-”

 

Vanderwood was cut off by the abrupt start of a song.

 

“Your phone is ringing.”

 

“I know, I can hear it.”

 

“Are you going to answer?”

 

“ID?”

 

“‘Jumin.’ Too paranoid to fill in last names?”

 

“You’re just as much of a skeptic. Answer it for me, will you?”

 

Vanderwood scrunched his nose and complied. “Hello?” he said into the phone, walking up to Seven’s desk. “No, this is Seven’s phone. Yeah, yeah, he’s here. Hang on.”

 

Seven took the phone when Vanderwood held it out to him. His hand was shaking. “Jumin? Ahaha, no, it’s not like that... Look, I- no, I- Jumin, listen- stop cutting me off!”

 

He huffed, raking a hand through his hair before pulling his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. Vanderwood watched with sharp eyes, curiosity growing.

 

“Are you serious?” Seven groaned. “He hasn’t talked to you since Tuesday? I’m sorry, really, but- look, he’s not going to talk to me if he won’t talk to you. I might be in charge of the secrets, but this one- that’s not important right now, but this time it involves me, so if you could, I don’t know, not look into it anymore? Wha- of course he’s important to me! I - it’s just- look, right now, I’m not sure talking to him would help.  _ Yes _ it’s my fault. Jumin- Jumin, hey, I have to go back to work, my boss is here- yes, he’s in the room with me.  _ No,  _ it’s not like that. Want to say hi? Whatever. I’ll call you back later.”

 

Seven huffed and dug his palms into his eyes. Then he groaned, long and frustrated, leaning back into his chair.

 

“You tell your friends I’m your boss?” Vanderwood asked. It was all he could do in situations like this.

 

“Yeah,” Seven muttered, hands still pressed into his eyes. “It’s easier than elaborating, you know? Less suspicious.”

 

“Suspicious,” Vanderwood repeated.

 

“It’s not like I can be honest about working with the agency. You know that.”

 

“I do.” Vanderwood furrowed his brows.

 

Seven sighed. “I’m sorry, I need some space before I get back to work.”

 

“Alright. I’ll finish cleaning up and see myself out.”

 

“Thanks. I, uh, I’ll call you later tonight with my progress on the code.”

 

Vanderwood gave Seven a small smile, one corner of his mouth tilted higher than the other. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell the boss you had to take a mental health day.”

  
Seven gaped at Vanderwood, slapped his arm. “You asshole! You never said I could do that before!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm always a slut for dialogue.


	7. oh my darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought i uploaded this chapter but i didn't, haha. i'm not happy with this but i'm shoveling it out anyways.

Seven’s bunker smelled horribly like that off-brand lemon cleaner he only started buying because Vanderwood was allergic to oranges. It was the only sign that Vanderwood had ever been there. To the the unknowing, Seven was a neat freak with his cutlery and his dishes and his clothes and his books all lined up and well-taken care of, clean and free of dust. He was minimalistic- clinical, even. Orderly.

 

This was, of course, the way Vanderwood preferred things. Seven would much rather throw everything in the trash and lock himself up with his computer and hoodie. He only bought a bunker as big as he did in case Saeran wanted to move in with him.

 

Seven sighed.

 

He should call him, shouldn’t he?

 

But that would mean calling his mom...

 

He groaned, pushing himself away from his computer, the wheels of his chair rolling against the smooth floor of his office and against the wooden doorframe.

 

He couldn’t do that, not with the way he left things.

 

He looked back at his computer, a chill running up his spine. He could leave the system running unmonitored while he stretched his legs, right? Just for a little bit. He stood up, rolled his shoulders back, and cringed when they cracked. He’d been hunched over his computer for too long.

 

Maybe he could ask V how he’s doing?

 

Seven wandered into his kitchenette, fingers tapping against the counter as he hummed the melody of a commercial he saw a few days ago.

 

Another case of him not leaving a relationship on good terms. He couldn’t do that either. He wasn’t even allowed.

 

Vanderwood would kill him if he found out he still hadn’t eaten. He searched his cabinets for something to eat before moving to his freezer and pulling out a microwave dinner. He ran the freezer burnt lasagna under hot water, scraping ice off with a fork. The microwave let out a faint hum as the plastic container spun around under a warm light. He watched and listened to his food cook, chin resting in his hand.

 

He could always talk to Jumin about contacting his brother- except he wasn’t allowed. Damn it all.

 

He stood staring blankly at the clock above his sink. Why did he have so many clocks? Time just made him nervous. How long had it been since he left? He sighed between bites. What an idiot. At least he was finally eating and his stomach wasn’t in a constant state of drop-kicking him under the ribs anymore (but it certainly wasn’t above jibes to the guts for feeding it old frozen dinners).

 

He was tempted to just finish eating in his kitchen, right at the stool he left by the counter, instead of going back to work. But, what was the point in work if he wasn’t going to do it?

 

Hot meal impaled with a fork and in hand, Seven trudged back to his chair, threw himself down, and pushed off the doorframe to roll back to his desk.

 

The first bite at his desk still tasted freezer burnt. The second had him focusing his attention back to his monitor. The third hardly registered as he rolled his eyes at the chatroom. He almost choked on the fourth when he looked back at the work he left pulled up on his other monitor.

 

His eyes wandered over to the blinking cursor. He didn’t remember typing out that string. He knit his brows together.

 

It wasn’t code. His eyes ran along the garbled lines until they stopped on something coherent.

 

**_Traitor_ ** .

 

He would’ve dropped his food. He would’ve dropped it and gotten it everywhere if he were feeling like himself. Instead, he pushed his keyboard up his desk and replaced it his microwaved lasagna, propped his elbows up, and rested his chin on the back of his hands.

 

He stared at his screen until his eyes hurt, until the pinging of new messages from the messenger annoyed him.

 

**Yoosung★:** Really…

 

**Yoosung★:** What the hell is Seven doing?

 

Yoosung? No, it couldn’t have been him. Why did he think it could have been Yoosung? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Yoosung was his friend. Unless he was still mad about the chocolate milk prank...

 

No. Yoosung barely had time to do schoolwork, let alone learn to hack and mess with his job. He didn’t even know what his job was, did he? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Yoosung was his friend. Yoosung was his  _ best _ friend, and he still avoided telling him anything too personal, despite the fact that they were  _ best friends _ .

 

Seven groaned.

 

Idiot.

 

_ Traitor _ .

 

Shut up.

 

_ Traitor _ .

 

Shut up!

 

_ “Saeyoung, where were you?” _

 

Out.

 

_ “Out where?” _

 

Work.

 

_ “What about me? What about  _ us _?” _

 

I live alone.

 

_ “Traitor!” _

 

Stop-

 

_ “I trusted you-” _

 

-please, stop-

 

_ “-and you never came back home! You left me all by myself with her!” _

 

It’s not that simple-

 

_ “Don’t lie to me.” _

 

I’m not, I swear-

 

_ “Traitor.” _

 

Traitor.

  
He  _ was _ a traitor.


	8. so we beat on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 546 words. that's all i've got for you, months later. i apologize. unbeta'd.

Seven would have loved going back to his default- working until he dropped and messing around with his friends in the chatroom- but the anomalies showing up in his code didn’t show any signs of stopping.

 

It’s not that the strings of nonsense messed with his job, no, they just made things that much more tedious.

 

Vanderwood would show up more frequently, check and make sure he was doing fine. Make sure he wasn’t going to self-destruct again.

 

“I’m fine,” Seven would say.

 

Vanderwood would hum, say, “something just doesn’t feel right.”

 

Seven would chuckle humorlessly. “Oh? Is it because we won’t be working together anymore after this mission?”

 

“It’s just not right...” Vanderwood would say, shaking his head and ending their poor attempt at conversation.

 

Seven would click his tongue in the way that annoyed all his friends and turn back to his computer.

 

It was on one of Vanderwood’s visits that something  _ peculiar _ happened.

 

“You know,” Vanderwood said, “I ran into one of your friends.”

 

“You have an outside life?” Seven asked halfheartedly.

 

“As much of one as you do,” Vanderwood said.

 

“So, who was the unlucky bastard?” Seven asked, briefly glancing at Vanderwood over his shoulder.

 

“Said his name was Kim Jihyun.”

 

Seven coughed. “I didn’t know you thought we were still friends, Vand.”

 

“So you’re not? He even asked about you.”

 

“Don’t talk to him.”

 

“Why?” Vanderwood sighed. “Look, I don’t really care what’s going on between you two, but if he was the only one that can take you to your appointments, you should at least keep in touch with him.”

 

“I thought I told you I wasn’t going to the doctor’s anymore?” Seven said.

 

“You can’t just pretend this isn’t happening.”

 

“Watch me.”

 

“I have been, for years now. And I think you’re making a mistake.”

 

“You’re my handler, not my guardian.”

 

“If that’s what you think, then look at it from a professional standpoint.”

 

Seven groaned. “Okay, you got me.”

 

“So you’ll call him?”

 

“Or you can call him.”

 

“Yeah, alright. Get back to work.”

 

Seven cracked his knuckles, an action that had Vanderwood shaking his head, and went back to typing. His eyes darted from line to line of text, but he wasn’t paying attention, not really. Just typed whatever random strings and patterns he thought of. No, he was more preoccupied listening to Vanderwood’s deep voice, raspy from years of smoking, in the other room.

 

“... hasn’t gone since you took him. Yeah, yeah... can’t let him drive, I know. You think he’s what? ... I can do that. Yeah. Yeah. Oh, you’re apologising now? He has leukemia. Not much is going to ‘fix’ anything- okay. I’ll tell him,” Vanderwood said. A beat. “You know I can’t.” A sigh. “Okay, okay. Bye.”

 

Seven slinked over the doorframe, peeking his head out at the agent sat at his kitchen table, head in his hands.

 

“Talking shit about me again?” Seven asked jokingly.

 

“Always,” Vanderwood said, lifting himself.

 

Seven sat down across from Vanderwood, wringing his hands, cracking his knuckles.

 

“Are you gonna make me go to the doctor’s again?”

 

“You know that I can’t force you.”

 

“You know that I’ll listen if it’s you.”

  
Vanderwood chuckled. “Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t. You’re an enigma.” He sighed. “A goddamn enigma.”


	9. spun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd.

The air was thick, had been since eight in the morning. It made Seven an even bigger bundle of nerves than he usually was.

 

“It’s been a while,” Dr. Youngs said. His hair was grayer than the last time Seven had seen him, his dark circles more pronounced.

 

Seven hummed in response.

 

“Right. Well, let’s begin from square one, shall we? I’ve been in touch with your friend, the one that brings you here. There are a few questions he couldn’t answer for me,” the old man said.

 

Seven looked at him, cocked his head to the side.

 

“Have you been prescribed anything for your depression?”

 

Seven couldn’t stop himself from scoffing, earning a concerned look from the doctor.

 

“Luciel?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Are you still taking it?”

 

“Why does it matter? I’m dying.”

 

Dr. Youngs sighed and pulled his glasses off, placed them in his lap. “Luciel,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “please, at least try to answer me. We can’t move forward with treatment if you keep refusing.”

 

“Maybe I don’t want to get better.”

 

“Ah, I think that’s a lie.”

 

“How do you know? How can you know? I don’t even know!”

 

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

 

“I was forced to-”

 

Dr. Youngs waved his hand dismissively. “You weren’t forced into this room. You came on time- early, even- and sat down without a fuss. So what’s the problem now?

 

Seven sunk further into the armchair in front of Dr. Youngs. “I haven’t been taking my meds,” he admitted.

 

“Thank you,” Dr. Youngs said quietly, perching his glasses back on his nose. He scribbled something down on his notepad.

 

“And,” Seven continued, “I’ve been avoiding my friends- I don’t even  _ know _ if they’re my friends anymore- since I stopped coming here.”

 

Dr. Youngs wrote more down in his notes, and at the rate Seven was going, he wouldn’t be stopping any time soon. “How’s work been?”

 

“It was good for a while, but then it just started to... slow down?”

 

“Why do you say it like that?”

 

“I don’t know.” Seven sighed. “I just don’t know.”

 

“Then let me ask it like this: how did things slow down?” Dr. Youngs asked.

 

“Oh, well,” Seven breathed out, slouching down into the chair until his legs were supporting most of his lower body weight, “I guess time just seems to stop. Not in that, like, romantic way or anything. It’s more like, really  _ disorienting _ . I don’t know, I think I’m just... more nervous.”

 

“Is it because of your condition?”

 

“Condition,” Seven scoffed. “You mean if this is because I’m dying? Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t! Everything is just weird right now.”

 

“Well, we’ll need to take more tests to see if anything changed in the month we haven’t seen you. It may be a side effect of things getting worse,” Dr. Youngs said.

 

“How often do you have to say that?” Seven asked.

 

“Say what?”

 

“That things are getting worse.”

 

Dr. Youngs hesitated, sized up Seven’s expression. “More often than I wish.”

 

“That sucks.”

 

“Yeah, it does.”

 

“This all sucks.”

 

“It does.”

 

“Everything is gonna suck until I die, isn’t it?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Seven sat back up in the chair, straight, like him mom used to make him sit. “I think we both know I probably won’t be getting any better.”

 

“Now, Luciel, if you’re thinking like this because of what I said about the tests, those are cautionary, procedural, just to make sure you’re not getting worse. It doesn’t mean you are,” Dr. Youngs said. Seven thought the concern in his voice was pathetic.

 

“But you think I might be,” Seven countered.

 

“Why do you think you’re getting worse?” Dr. Youngs asked-  _ diverted _ .

 

“I had to fill out a list of symptoms before this. You tell me.”

 

“Every patient has to do that.”

 

“Every  _ cancer _ patient. You’re a cancer doctor. You talk to me about cancer, and me being treated for cancer, and then what happens next until I end up dying  _ from cancer _ . My symptoms have been getting worse, and I don’t even want to be here and- I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know!” Seven said-  _ screamed _ the last part. He wished he hadn’t raised his voice at the old man, but who else would listen to him at this point? “I don’t know,” he repeated, sighed, quiet, then, “I’m sorry.”

 

Was he crying now? Hell.

 

“It’s alright. Really, it’s alright. I know no one wants this to happen to them, believe me. But there’s always a chance of recovery. Always,” Dr. Youngs said.

 

“I’ll believe it when it happens,” Seven said.

 

After his appointment, Dr. Youngs made sure he scheduled another one for the following week, made sure he left with a little card with the time and date stamped on it.

 

V smiled at him from his place in the waiting room. Seven had to get closer than he used to just so the man knew he was there. He wished V would just get the eye surgery Jumin offered, but what place was he in now to be able to say that, let alone think it?

 

“Take me home. Don’t talk, just walk,” Seven said.

 

V was a patient man, a saint. He listened to Seven’s requests, now that their relationship seemed to hit a wall where they couldn’t go back, but couldn’t move forward. Seven was infinitely grateful, but he still hated how he could never rile the older man up, never get him to leave. V was a good man. V was good. Seven was not.

 

Seven wanted to talk to V. But he couldn’t. And he didn’t want to, but he wanted to. He had to, but wouldn’t.

  
_ Tomorrow is another day _ , he decided, and went home with no more than a goodbye.


	10. little things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 471 words. almost 5 months. sorry.

The thing about being sick- let’s call it that- and also being mentally ill that no one tells you is that things don’t just feel like they’re burning around you, things feel like  _ you _ are the reason everything is burning, that you’ve doused yourself in an accelerant and dropped a match atop your head and you aren’t quite sure why, and your skin is charring and broiling and bubbling and your lungs are filling up with smoke and ash and- oh,  _ oh _ . You can see yourself crumbling and disappearing and you just  _ know _ that no one understands what you’re thinking or they would tell you to stop and pull you back from the ledge.

 

Hell, doesn’t that just hit so close to home?

 

Maybe if he was more focused on working, he could have distracted himself from these disorienting feelings long enough that he wouldn’t have tried calling his mom and crying to her, asking her what he had done that made her hate his brother, hate him, pleading for one last chance to make her happy before his miserable life ended.

 

But it wasn’t his mom that answered, no, it was her siblings.  _ Her _ family, not his.

 

And oh, the news shouldn’t have bothered him. After all, she was horrible, right? He hated her, right?  _ She _ hated  _ him _ , right _? _ Yet something in him deflated, constricted, and punched his heart over and over and over again as if his mother had crawled into his chest and personally saw to the beatings.

 

Seven decided that regardless of all the training and brain-rewiring he went through for the agency, he couldn’t have been prepared for the emotional wave that wracked his body when he found out his mother was dead. An accident, they told him. A murder, he thought. It was always homicide, always, when the unsuspecting police officers and distant family believed it was an accident. It was always a murder.

 

He spent the day in a dazed state, not quite present, yet not quite gone. A murder. Maybe he was being dramatic, but he suspected foul play. And god, who doesn’t die of foul play these days? He was facing off against his own assailant everyday, that dreaded beast named cancer.

 

But maybe it was just an accident, and maybe he was just paranoid.

 

He sighed, sat at his computer and stared at the ceiling. It was no shrouded visage with a knife, but it was draining him, isolating him, and severing the veins to his heart one by one. But he was no victim. He was an accomplice, wasn’t he? He was letting this eat at him, consume him from the inside out and snuff out any light he reached for.

 

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was just waiting patiently (impatiently, anxiously, endlessly) for his own death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i broke my leg and i'm graduating this year. i don't know if there will even be a next chapter because honestly i don't care about this work anymore and i don't want to push it and upload trash. anyways thank you for reading.


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